


kiss me too fiercely

by Cordelia



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: I may have really loved this prompt, M/M, Prompt Fill, and written a little more than I had meant to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 04:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cordelia/pseuds/Cordelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he was in the navy and Q was a little boy, Bond saved Q.  Young Q told Bond he would be like him when he grew up. Bond doesn't remember that day until Q saves him from a similar situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	kiss me too fiercely

**Author's Note:**

> Fic prompt from chibura: Bond saved Q in the past, when he was still in navy (not yet an agent) and Q was still a little boy. Q said something like: I will become your equal when I get older. Of course Bond couldn't remember that, until Q saves him from an extremely dangerous case.

It was a long time ago, but Q hasn’t forgotten.

Those were the days before he was called Q. The days when he had another name, a name that had, through the years, become a secret. He remembers gunfire and screaming; his mother desperately grabbing his hand, only for her fingers to slip away; his father pleading for their lives to a man with no mercy – two bullets and Q had lost both his parents within seconds. He remembers wailing, and then stopping when he realised that no one could hear him over the hundred other voices that cried in fear and agony. Eight years old and crying almost silently as he watched both friends and strangers be massacred. A cruise ship holiday, just what the doctor had ordered – literally, as Q’s parents, both doctors, had booked the holiday in the hopes of a tranquil escape - yet so many met their deaths that day. The murders went on for an hour, the terrorists who had gone on a killing spree being quick at rounding up the passengers on board and shooting them. Those who lasted nearly the whole hour had hidden amongst the blood-stained corpses of the freshly dead, but even they were found eventually. None were supposed to survive, that was their plan. Kill all witnesses and flee before the signal had been raised, before the authorities arrived. Q was the last passenger alive on that boat when they found him. Dragging him to the centre of the deck, surrounded by the gunmen, they toasted over his shivering form to their success.

That was when he arrived.

The man was young, early twenties probably, and wearing a uniform that was emblazoned with the insignia of the Royal Navy. He had short dirty-blonde hair and a hard jaw. His expression was one of steel, and his bright blue eyes were filled with the most terrifying fury that Q had ever seen. One by one, he fired at the terrorists with lightening speed. He was so quick unleashing his justice that the men had no time to raise their own weapons. In a matter of seconds, all eight men were down. Some were dead, but others clutched at their bullet wounds in pain, clinging to life like drowning rats. Even then Q could see that the bullets that had not killed had not been meant to; the men still alive were the ones who would be sentenced in court. The ones who were dead had already faced their punishment.

It seemed that only then that the man noticed Q. He stepped forward into the centre of the circle of incapacitated murderers. The man, for the first time, looked hesitant as he stared at the trembling eight year old in front of him. Uncertainty crossed his features. Slowly, as if to a wounded animal, the man spoke to Q.

“It’s alright, lad. It’s over now.” Crouching down two feet from Q, he held out his hand to the young boy. Q stared at him.

“H-how is it alright?” The man’s hand quivered, but didn’t fall. An expression of surprise flickered across his face, but he answered the best he could. The boy wasn’t trying to be clever, the man realised. He was genuinely asking him.

“I’m sorry,” the man murmured gently. “It’s not really alright. You’re safe, but you won’t forget any of this. But you will be alright, in time. I can’t fix what’s happened, but I can look after you until we get you home. Is that okay?” His hand stretched out again, but Q still didn’t take it. He just had one more question to ask.

“What will happen to me now my parents are gone?” Again, surprise flickered in the eyes of the man, but he recovered quicker this time. It seemed that the boy was coping better than he should have been, at least for that moment.

“We’ll find out when we get you back to England, but you’ll probably live with relatives, if you have any.” He paused for a moment at the young boy’s frightened and untrusting gaze, thinking. _Never tell them who you are,_ his commander had said. _Lie if you must, but keep your secrets safe. You never know when something you say might change a situation entirely._

“My parents died when I was a child.” The boy tilted his head a little, listening. The man pressed on, his voice soft. “I was a little younger than you, I think, but it changed me completely. My life would be very different if they hadn’t died. I wouldn’t be who I am now. I wish they hadn’t died, of course, but I can’t change that they did. So I learnt to live with it. And in time you will, too. I know it hurts. But they loved you, always remember that.”

There was silence between the two as they stared at each other. The man sighed lightly and looked down at his feet. He was about to stand up when a small hand grasped his, and he looked back up at the boy. Q was gripping his outstretched hand tightly, little fingers caked in blood that wasn’t his own, his eyes filled with unshed tears. They didn’t say anything more, only sat like that until the other sailors and officers arrived at the scene.

As the sun was setting that day, the man was holding the hand of the tired little boy on the journey back to England. The navy ship sailed smoothly across the sea. It would be a few hours until they reached port, and Q would be asleep when they arrived. The man would be gone by that point, back to his superiors to give an account of the day’s events. But just before Q fell asleep, head resting against the sailor’s arm, the man asked his name. He whispered it, and the man nodded. Looking up at his rescuer, Q asked his name in return.

“Bond,” he said kindly to the sleepy boy. “James Bond.” Nestling back into his chair, head against James’ arm, Q closed his eyes to finally rest. Just before sleep took him, Q mumbled one last thing.

“I’m going to be just like you one day, but not in the navy. I don’t like boats.” James chuckled, about to respond, but Q was already asleep.

\---

James had forgotten, until now.

His hands are tied behind his back, wrapped around the hot iron pole that is filled with steam from the engine. There is a dirty cloth gagging him into silence and, although his nose is clear to breathe through, he chokes on the copper tang of the blood that fills his mouth where he was punched. The bullet hole in his shoulder bleeds profusely, though he is lucky – it is only a flesh wound, easily healed. There are more bruises and cuts over his body, but otherwise he is unharmed. Bond knows that this sadly means a slower death than it could have been if that bullet had been aimed at his heart. He wants to sleep, but the men who have him captured slap his face each time his eyes threaten to close. He should have escaped by now, and would have had he not been drugged to near-paralysis. His mind remains intact. Movement is possible, but it is sluggish and he has not the strength to break the bonds that tie him down. Death does not feel close, but he knows that it is approaching rapidly. At least his secrets will go with him to the grave.

There is a crash from outside the room. One of his armed captors goes to investigate. He does not return, and after three minutes the other four are worried. They argue between each other when they hear a bang against the door. Suddenly they all take positions around it, guns aimed at the ready. Bond does not raise his hopes.

The door crashes open and the captors start firing, only to be shot off their feet. All four are on the ground before they’d fired more than a couple of bullets each, and a man stands over them. He wears a bullet proof vest and carries an ridiculously sleek looking gun, but there is no mistaking the soft brown cardigan that peaks out underneath the military gear. Looking up at his rescuers face, Bond sees the messy black hair and wide glasses that belong to no one but his quartermaster. The expression on the young man’s face is not one which Bond has seen there before: anger, fiery and harsh, but an almost fierce protectiveness comes over him as he looks at Bond. Walking towards Double-Oh-Seven, Q drops to his knees in front of him and begins undoing his bonds and removes the gag from Bond’s mouth. As soon as Bond’s hands fall to the ground, Q appraises his wounds. He frowns angrily at the abuse the older man had faced, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead he meets the gaze of Double-Oh-Seven and sighs.

“You’ve been drugged, I know, but your wounds are healable. The others are rounding up the rest of the crew; they’ll be here to whisk you off to the medics in a couple of minutes. You had us worried there for a moment, Double-Oh-Seven.” He attempts a smile, but Bond is frowning at him. The smile slips from Q’s face and he leans back a little, looking down. Their proximity was close. Perhaps Bond did not want that.

“I know you,” whispers Bond. Glancing back up at Bond quickly, he tilts his head.

“Yes,” he says slowly. “I’m your quartermaster.”

“No,” Bond struggles to sit up straighter, his throat dry and his voice rasping. And then he says a name. Q shivers. Nobody has called him that name in such a long time. “I remember, you on that boat. It was you, wasn’t it?” Q nods dumbly, eyes fixed on Bond’s chest. A slow hand touches his cheek, and Q raises his gaze until his hazel eyes are locked with Bond’s blue ones. Bond’s thumb strokes Q’s cheekbone. “I’d forgotten that day. That little boy. He was so brave, braver than I was, even after all of that death he’d seen. I admired his courage. Your courage. And you’ve grown into the most brilliant man I ever-“

And then Q kisses him.

Bond freezes for a moment, and Q panics. He is about to pull back, humiliation rising within him, when Bond’s lips start moving against his own. _Oh, thank God._ Arms locking around Bond’s neck, Q deepens the kiss. He can taste the tang of blood and it makes him angry to think that someone did that to his James, but the anger is replaced by want as James’ fingers find his hips. They are rolling against each other, both making noises not fit for a dingy cabin room on a steam fishing boat, when they hear a cough behind them. Breaking apart, they look to the doorway to see Moneypenny with one eyebrow raised and a faint smirk on her lips, and behind her a team of other agents sniggering amongst themselves. Q blushes a little, but Bond merely wraps an arm around the younger man’s waist and grins at Moneypenny. She rolls her eyes and gestures for the other agents to go away.

“I think Bond has all the help he needs.” Turning to go, Q calls out to her.

“Eve- I- you’re not...” Chuckling, Even turns around again and gives Q an exasperated smile.

“No, Q, I’m not angry. In fact I’m a little relived. The sexual tension between you two has been building up since the Skyfall incident, and quite frankly everyone at work – yes, I do mean everyone – has been wishing that you two would just act like grown men and admit your feelings. Or just fuck, if that would relive the ridiculous flirting. I’m pretty sure M had a bet going on with the other Double-Ohs about it actually...” She trails off and smiles softly at them. She speaks to Q brightly, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Come on, I’ll help you carry Mr Bond upstairs to the helicopter whilst he’s still injured. We’ll get him to the medics, and he’ll be fit to be in your bed in no time.” Q splutters, and Bond chuckles. Moneypenny grins at the quartermaster before grabbing Bond’s other side and hauling him up. Q takes his other side, and together they manage to half-carry, half-drag Bond up to the top deck of the steam boat.

As more agents come to help them onto the helicopter, Bond’s eyes begin to droop. The effects of the injuries and the drugs finally seem to take a toll on him as sleep approaches, but there is little danger of him dying now. The medic on the helicopter wastes no time in bandaging him up and giving him a once over. He’d need a blood transfusion to boost up his levels and some stitches, but other than that he would be fine. Q feels relief wash over him. James leans his head against Q’s chest as they fly towards the hospital, his eyes flickering shut. The bullet-proof vest is off now, his brown cardigan a soft pillow to lean on. Q runs a hand through James’ hair absentmindedly and stares out of the window. As quartermaster he shouldn’t have been in the field, but Eve had helped him convince M that it was necessary. He couldn’t leave James on a boat alone. There was just no way that he wasn’t going to rescue him.

James mumbles something and Q glances back at him. Listening more intently, James speaks again, and Q hears.

“So... You did become like me, then.” Q chuckles lightly, hand still stroking through James’ hair.

“Yes, I suppose I did, in a way.”

“And I... I’m like you now, too.” That was the sleep talking, Q was sure, but he asks what James means. Sighing gently, eyes closed, James murmurs into Q’s cardigan. “After all of that torture today, I suppose I don’t really like boats either. Although,” he pauses, his voice a whisper as sleep finally takes him. “I suppose I don’t mind anywhere if you’re with me.”


End file.
